


Wedding Bed

by SkyFireForever



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy, Voyná i mir | War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy, War and Peace (TV 2016)
Genre: Canon Era, Dirty Talk, F/M, First Time, Foursome - F/M/M/M, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Sibling Incest, Smut, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-22 10:09:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20872472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyFireForever/pseuds/SkyFireForever
Summary: Pierre was never invited into his wedding bed until one day he finds himself there.





	Wedding Bed

Pierre entered his house, closing the door behind him before resting his back against it. He’d had a long day, though it felt as if everyday was long. Long and tiring. He wanted nothing more than to curl up in his study with a good book. He pushed himself off of the door and made his way towards his study, completely forgetting about the other occupants of his home, as he had no reason to remember them. 

No reason, that is, until he heard the noises. 

He stopped in his tracks as he passed near his own bedroom, the sounds coming from within completely unmistakable. He’d recognize Helene’s voice anywhere; she was his wife, after all. He’d fallen in love with that voice once. He’d recognize it in a melodic laugh, in a teasing remark, in a not-so-innocent flirtation, or, as he recognized it now, in a breathy, gasping moan.

His face went red at the sound of it, at the gasps and cries coming from his own room, his own bed. They were without a doubt noises of pleasure, of ecstasy. Someone was pleasing his wife in his bed. A bed that he had never been invited to. No matter how many times he had tried to seduce his wife into laying with him, she had always come up with some excuse as to why they should wait. And now she was with someone else. Now she was  _ fucking  _ someone else. Someone else in  _ his  _ bed. 

Pierre’s embarrassment quickly morphed into pure fury as he stormed towards the room, not giving a damn about the consequences. This was his house, damn it! If his wife was going to be so obvious about taking other lovers, he would at least confront them. It was well within his right to interrupt this depraved act of adultery. He would teach them a lesson. Both of them. His whore wife and whatever man she had taken into her bed. He marched with a single minded purpose towards his bedroom, ignoring the gasping cries of “Please” and “Don’t stop” and “Beast”. 

He threw open the door, catching the miscreants in the act. There, upon their bed, was Helene, bent onto her knees with her ass in the air. She looked positively debauched; her hair thrown into her face, her skin shining with sweat, ragged cries still escaping her swollen lips. Positioned behind her was none other than Dolokhov, looking no more held together. He was completely bare, though Pierre could see little more of him than his toned chest and disheveled hair. He was bent over Helene, thrusting in and out of her at a rapid pace that appeared to be almost painful, perhaps by design. 

Pierre expected them to cease their actions upon his entrance into the room, but they showed no signs of slowing. In fact, Helene barely seemed to notice his presence. Her eyes were rolled back into her head, which was thrown back in sheer pleasure. Pierre might have thought that they weren’t even aware of his arrival if it hadn’t been for Dolokhov lifting up his head and making direct eye contact with him. 

“Oh, we have a guest.” His tone was lighthearted, almost playful, even with his constant thrusting into Helene. “Welcome, Petruska.” He grinned a devilish, cruel grin as he winked at Pierre. “Isn’t your wife a beauty?” His tone was mocking, but the way he gazed down at Helene made him appear almost as if he meant it. “She’s especially beautiful when she’s being a good little whore.” In a flash, his hand was colliding with the side of Helene’s ass, a resounding “smack” resonating through the room alongside the sound of skin on skin. 

Helene groaned in a way that was far more pleasure than pain. “Monster.” She growled out. “Animal. I despise you.” She spat out at Dolokhov, but there was no true fire behind her words. 

“Now, is that anyway to behave in front of an audience?” Dolokhov chided, reaching down to fist his hand in Helene’s hair, dragging her head up with a sharp yank. “Be a good girl and greet our guest.” 

Her gaze snapped to Pierre’s and they made intense eye contact that seemed to last an eternity. There was a challenge in her eyes, as if she was daring him to leave or daring him to stay. Everything in Pierre’s mind was screaming at him to run, to leave and never look back, but a part of him wanted to stay, wanted to see what would happen if he did. This was what had so often been refused him. 

“I-” Pierre was uncertain as to what to say. All of his anger had dissipated and he couldn’t deny his mounting interest at what was unfolding before him, but this felt so wrong. So depraved. His wife was being fucked by another man and Pierre was becoming  _ aroused  _ at the sight of it. What a horrid creature he was. 

“Watch her, Petrushka.” Dolokhov demanded, his voice suddenly stern and direct. “Don’t look away. Watch how much she enjoys this. Watch how she comes completely undone by the feeling of a cock inside of her.” His pace increased, if that was even possible, and he began fucking Helene with an intensity that Pierre had never imagined. His grip was tight on her hips, tight enough by far to leave bruises that would last for some time. Helene’s eyes fell closed and the only sounds she could make were hollow screams and cries. Pierre didn’t know where to look. At first, he could only stare transfixed at Helene’s face, at how her eyes squeezed up when she was overwhelmed with pleasure, at how her lips fell open and how she couldn’t seem to contain her sounds. His gaze then moved to her breasts, at the way they flew forward at every thrust. At last he settled on Dolokhov’s face, at how his brows were furrowed in concentration as he pressed himself as deep into Helene as he possibly could. “Take it. Take it.” He muttered under his breath, seemingly subconsciously. “You fucking  _ bitch.”  _ And then his eyes squeezed up and his mouth fell open and it was truly one of the most beautiful things Pierre had ever witnessed to watch Dolokhov spend himself inside of Helene. 

Dolokhov braced himself on one arm that was propped against the bed, his chest heaving as he leaned against Helene. She was still bent over, her own chest rising and falling with each breath. Dolokhov eventually pulled out of her and rolled over, allowing himself to catch his breath. Helene looked back at him with a scowl. “You certainly know how to leave a woman unsatisfied.” She spat at him. “You truly are an animal.” 

“And what does it say about you that you like being fucked by an animal, hm?” Dolokhov challenged. It was as if they had both forgotten that Pierre was there. He stood awkwardly in the doorway and cleared his throat. It was only then that Dolokhov’s attention returned to him. “Ah, Petruska. Why don’t you have a seat? The show is not yet over.” He gestured to a sitting chair that was pushed to one corner of the room. Pierre found himself obeying, stepping towards the chair and nearly falling upon it. He wondered what Dolokhov meant by the show not being over. 

Helene laughed, a teasing, mocking laugh that caused Pierre’s ears to turn red. “He obeys so easily, Fedya.” She smirked, her gaze lingering on Pierre’s form. “Perhaps he is the one you should be fucking.” She suggested with a devilish gleam in her eye. It was a patronizing, humiliating suggestion, but Pierre couldn’t deny that he didn’t lose an inch even within the confines of his trousers. Helene sat up and stretched her body out, surely sore from how long she’d been bent over by Dolokhov. Pierre distantly wondered how long they had been at it before he had arrived. 

“Come, dear sister. I will not be as cruel to you as Fedya.” Pierre almost jumped out of his skin as he heard the new voice. His gaze flickered to the other figure on the bed, one that Pierre hadn’t even noticed before now. Anatole Kuragin was laying spread across the bed, not wearing a stitch of clothing. He sat up and wrapped his arms around his sister’s waist, pulling her to him. Pierre realized with a shudder that the rumors were true. His wife really was having sex with her own brother. He should feel disgusted, he should look away, he should banish them both from his house, but all he felt was intrigue and excitement. He disgusted himself. 

“No?” Helene tilted her head to the side to allow Anatole access to her neck, which he gladly kissed. “You won’t fuck me like some wild animal?” 

“Oh, I will.” Anatole chuckled darkly, something in his eyes shifting. “But I’ll at least allow you some pleasure from it.”

Dolokhov snorted from where he had settled against the pillows. “Listen to the sounds she was making and tell me she didn’t receive any pleasure from my cock.” 

Anatole merely ignored him, laying his sister out against the bed. She settled onto her back and gazed up at her brother as he crawled over her. Pierre couldn’t look away even as Anatole captured Helene’s lips in a kiss. His own sister. It was purely depraved, disgusting. Pierre untied the front of his trousers, trying desperately to relieve some of the pressure. 

Pierre couldn’t see everything from the angle he was given, but he could see how Anatole’s head ducked down so he could attack his sister’s breasts. He could see how Helene’s hand came to tangle itself in her brother’s hair. He could hear the short gasps and moans she let out whenever Anatole did something especially wicked with his tongue or his teeth. 

“Are you going to fuck me or not?” Helene eventually whined, rolling her hips up to capture Anatole’s cock between their bodies. Anatole whimpered at the friction, quickly nodding and positioning himself so he could slide into his sister without difficulty. His hips snapped forward and then he was fucking her. He started out slow, simply rolling his hips into hers, and then he increased his pace, hips snapping faster and faster. In no time, he was thrusting inside of her with enough force to shake the bed, the headboard slamming against the wall. 

Where the sex between Helene and Dolokhov had been loud and angry, the passion between her and Anatole was more intiment. He didn’t speak, merely grunted as he gripped her hips tightly, focusing on positioning himself where she would feel it most. Her hands were tangled in the sheets, gripping at them fiercely and struggling to contain her moans and cries. It seemed that no matter the partner, Helene could not be silent. 

Pierre’s gaze was drawn to Anatole’s ass simply due to how it was positioned in front of him. It moved in time with his thrusts, jiggling slightly with each movement. Pierre was suddenly overcome with the urge to touch it, to run his hands along it and squeeze. He almost did so, but thought better of it. He had been invited to watch, not to participate. 

Anatole’s hand snaked between his and Helene’s bodies, rubbing at her clit and bringing her closer to the edge. His hips began snapping erratically and he whispered something in Helene’s ear that Pierre couldn’t hear. That seemed to be all it took before Helene’s back arched and she all but screamed as she came undone. She collapsed back upon the bed, panting heavily as Anatole continued to fuck her pliant body. He thrust into her once, twice, three times before burying himself as deep as he would go. He whined as he came, pressing his face into his sister’s shoulder He collapsed on top of her, resting there for a moment before slowly pulling out. 

Helene pushed her hair out of her face. “That, Fedya, is how you pleasure a woman.” She said, slightly out of breath. 

“Yes, I’ll keep that in mind.” Dolokhov rolled his eyes in a manner that suggested that he would do no such thing. He sat up and looked over at Pierre. “Now, I think it’s rude to keep our guest waiting.” He extended a hand to him. “Come here, Petrushka.” 

Pierre wanted to remind him that this was  _ his  _ bed and that he was not a guest in it, but he couldn’t find the words. He stood and slowly made his way to the bed, standing awkwardly beside it. 

“I assume you won’t be fucking me in your clothes.” Helene remarked, a teasing smile upon her lips. Pierre’s heart nearly stopped at those words. He stared at her in disbelief, but her expression was unreadable. “Undress.” She reached over to slide his vest off of his shoulders. He quickly went to work unbuttoning the front of his shirt, sliding it off before pushing down his trousers and underthings. As he stood bare before them, he suddenly felt inadequate. The specimens before him were paragons of beauty and sex and there he was, a bumbling buffoon. He could never compare. 

“Come here.” Helene pulled him upon the bed and laid him so he was on his back, head propped on the pillows. She straddled him, her legs on either side of him so that she was hovering just above him. She placed her hands against his chest and he was certain that she could feel the pounding of his heartbeat. She slowly sunk down until he could feel the heat of her cunt just above his cock. He held his breath, waiting for the moment of impact. He was slowly enveloped by her heat as she slid down to take him to the root. He gasped and he couldn’t help the way his hips jerked up, causing him to bury himself further inside of her. He opened his mouth to apologize, but he stopped when he heard her sharp intake of breath at the force of it. She had just taken two different men’s cocks into her, how was she still so tight around him? He closed his eyes and put his hands on her hips, losing himself in the sensation of it all. 

After what felt like an eon, they were flush together with him sheathed fully within her. She took a moment to adjust, taking a breath. Pierre had heard that he was a sizable man, but had never had much in terms of comparison. Now, it seemed that it was true, as even Helene had slight difficulty adjusting to the size of him. 

Then, she began to move and Pierre saw stars. She swiveled her hips, rocking in a way that had Pierre biting his lip to keep any unwanted noises from escaping. She continued at a slow pace, barely moving at all before she began to quicken the pace. She began bouncing herself on his cock, her walls contracting around him. She suddenly lifted herself up, pulling almost all the way off before dropping down again. He groaned and couldn’t take it anymore. 

He flipped them over, shoving Helene into the mattress with a forceful strength. He began thrusting into her with a desperation that he’d never experienced before. He was hungry for her, needed to be closer to her, needed to  _ feel  _ her. He slammed his hips back into hers, shaking the bed with each thrust. Her broken moans and pathetic cries were music to his ears as he rocked into her again and again. He grunted and growled, pulling almost all the way out before forcing himself back inside of her. He heard her screaming, begging him not to stop, felt her fingernails digging into his back. He bit at her neck, leaving dark marks that said  _ mine mine mine _ , reminding anyone who looked upon her that she was  _ his  _ wife, that she was  _ his.  _ He chased the exhilarating pleasure that came from being close to her. He felt her shudder underneath him, her back arching and walls clenching around him as she experienced her second orgasm of the night. Pierre’s eyes rolled back and he found himself burying himself as deeply as he dared before coming completely undone. His vision went white and he found himself collapsed on top of Helene’s sweaty body. 

“You’re crushing me.” She hummed, but didn’t seem too bothered. Pierre murmured an apology and rolled off of her, struggling to regain his breath. Helene sat up and stretched, glancing past Pierre. Pierre followed her gaze to see Anatole’s throat full of Dolokhov’s cock. He stared for a moment before shaking his head, deciding that it wasn’t his business to judge anyone’s sexual preferences, not after tonight. Helene rose from the bed and Pierre noticed the way her legs trembled. “I believe that it’s about time for bed.” She decided. “Husband, I don’t believe you’d mind if my brother and your friend spend the night? No? Good.” She smiled at him, pressing the briefest of kisses against his lips. 

Pierre stared after her in a complete daze. He only hoped that this wouldn’t be the last time he laid in his wedding bed. 


End file.
